It Happened to Me: A Car Crashed Into the Front of My House

"Every once in a while, I'll stop and stare at the tire mark she left on my front porch on that fateful night. It's a constant reminder to be grateful."

I was ten years old when the front half of my house exploded, in 1977.

My mom and younger sister were in the bathroom at the time, just off the kitchen at the back of the house, and I was in the kitchen, about to head into the living room that was no longer there.

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I bolted toward the pantry, located behind the kitchen, certain a tornado had struck. Earlier that afternoon, the National Weather Service had issued a tornado watch.

"Lee?! Lee?! Where are you?" Mom was frantic, trying to find me, but I was paralyzed with fear, unable to speak. It took me a minute to get my bearings. When I emerged from the pantry, crying, she hugged me.

"What happened?" I said.

"I don't know."

The first thing we noticed was that the couch that used to sit in the living room was now butted up against the kitchen door – a good twenty-five feet away.

We crept toward the couch and peeked into the living room to find a car sitting there. The wheels were still spinning. Apparently the driver was so stunned that she still hadn't taken her foot off the accelerator. We found out later that the only thing that kept her from advancing further into the house was a mountain of debris under her car.

Mom hustled us out the back door to check on the driver, who turned out to be a neighbor girl who was just learning how to drive. Her mother had taken her out with her learner's permit, and the girl got confused when she pulled into the driveway next door to turn around. She mistakenly hit the accelerator instead of the brake pedal.

Thankfully, neither the driver nor her mother was hurt.

Authorities arrived within minutes. So did at least one television news crew, asking my family questions we couldn't answer. As we tried, I looked at the house and was stunned to see how far the car had been able to travel after impact. It was completely submerged inside the house. Fluids from the vehicle had leaked onto the floor. All of our furniture was demolished. And she had taken out several walls.

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Once the news crew left, and the homeowner's insurance representative had the entire front of the house boarded up, we had no idea what to do next.

My grandparents came to the rescue and we spent the next several nights with them. By the fourth night, Mom wanted to go back to the house, fearing we would get robbed of what little we had left otherwise.

For the next four months, our homeowner's insurance company battled with the car owner's insurance company about who should pay for the damages. The three of us slept in the one bedroom that remained undamaged. Other than that, we had access to the kitchen and bathroom. It was cramped, but we managed. Eventually, the insurance companies came to terms and we were able to rebuild.

The girl who was driving that night never drove again. I always felt bad about that. We certainly didn't hold any animosity toward her.

I moved away from the neighborhood and lost track of her, but many years later, I moved back into that same house. In June 2008, we had an awful windstorm, with gusts reaching more than one hundred miles per hour, knocking down trees and power lines across the city. I went to check on the woman who had once driven into the front of my house and discovered that she needed a ride across the city to her sister's house, which still had power. I was happy to do so. As we sat together in the same car, it felt like we had come full circle.

Every once in a while, I'll stop and stare at the tire mark she left on my front porch on that fateful night nearly forty years ago. It's a constant reminder to be grateful on so many levels – grateful for life, and grateful for new beginnings.

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